Johnny Miles

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Because I'm still fairly new at blogging and don't do it often, I thought I'd experiment and have a guest. I had the pleasure of reading this particular work in some of it's first incarnations and found it a fascinating read, as well as hot. Then again, there's just something about a bunch of Greek boys running around in togas. Though I'm not as big a fan of Greek history as the author, Kayla Jameth, it nonetheless captures my attention.

And so, without further ado, please welcome Kayla Jameth, author of "Alexios' Fate." Take it away Kayla!

The setting for Alexios' Fate is Thrace during the early years of the fifth century BC. Thrace is the eastern-most portion of Greece close to the Persian Empire, modern day Turkey.

Greece was just hitting its stride as the cultural center of the ancient world. During the beginning of the fifth century, Persia is becoming a threat to the Greek world, but has not yet invaded. The first Persian invasion by King Darius I looms on the horizon. The battle of Marathon will take place while Prince Alexios is in his mid-20s. Persia will gobble up Dicaea and all of Thrace, but not reach the prince's new home in Delphi. But as you might expect Delphi will become much sought out by the other Greek city-states in the years leading up to the invasion. To give you some idea of time frame, Thermopylae and the 300 won't be for nearly another two decades.Alexios' Fate is an m/m take on the myth of Andromeda. Both Alexios' and Andromeda's parents boast about them, committing hubris, and their children are expected to pay the price.

So let me introduce you to my cast of characters.

Prince Alexios of Dicaea, at 18 years old, has just come-of-age. His father expects him to make a marriage alliance at an age when he should be choosing a mentor instead. Greek men at that point in history didn't typically marry until they were in their 30s. Needless to say, he is rather put out about this.

King Lykos is one of the kings invited to Alexios' coming-of-age celebration as a possible father-in-law/mentor. Lykos is a mature bear of a man with confidence in spades, exactly the kind of man a youth would chose to be his mentor. He is in his late 30s, powerfully built with body hair and a beard (considered a sign of virility in Iron Age Greece). He and Alexios hit it off right from the start, much to Alexios' father's disgust.Alexios' slave, Galen, sees his chance and makes a bid for his prince's heart. He is a youth only two years Alexios' senior.

And yes, Apollo is real. But he is not some paranormal, omniscient, superior being. He is the anthropomorphism of light, art, healing, and prophecy. The ancient Greeks did not expect omniscience nor demand enlightened beneficence of their gods. Their gods could be just as petty and spiteful as anyone else.

Each of these men wants something different from Alexios. Lykos is looking for a culturally appropriate fling (pederasty) that will likely last for a few years. Galen wants a lover. Apollo, in typical Olympian fashion, is looking for a use 'em and lose 'em one night stand.

Blurb: The mature King Lykos has a sexy confidence that turns Alexios' head. Seduced by Lykos, Prince Alexios discovers a world of men he's never known before.

Meanwhile his slave Galen has gotten tired of waiting in the wings. He sets out to woo Alexios and win his heart.

Even Apollo can't leave Alexios alone. The young prince finds himself pursued by a god and in danger of a perilous love.

How will Alexios follow his heart when he unwittingly wins the favor of a god? Can Alexios escape the fate of Apollo's past lovers and have the man he wants?

Alexios' Fate preorder sale: Get 10% off until April 12 with the code ALEXIOSFATEPREORDER04C352FF

Excerpt:After seeing to the fiery steed, he paused to give his own colt some of the fragrant grass and scratch his ears. The shift in his colt's ears alerted Alexios to the presence of someone else in the stable. With a final pat on the withers, he turned toward the intruder, pleased to find Lykos.

Lykos descended on him with fire in his eyes. A shiver raced through his body as Alexios realized he wanted whatever the older man had in mind. Once more his cock stirred to life as Lykos swept toward him like a wave before the storm.

"Ah, there you are. I wondered if I would still find you here. It took me longer to get away from the others than I would have liked."

"You followed me?"

"I asked your brother where you had gone."

He crashed down upon Alexios and bore him back against the side of the stall. The king slipped both hands under Alexios' tunic, grabbed his ass, and tugged their groins together. Alexios thrust against Lykos almost before he could get his hands on the hips surging against him like the tide.

"I knew you wanted me. I watched you get hard on the deck of my ship."

"Maybe that was just the excitement of being on a warship, naked in front of the whole crew."

Lykos threw back his head and laughed, startling several of the drowsy horses. "We shall see about that!"

Blunt fingers massaged and parted the hillocks of Alexios' ass before one probed his hidden valley. Like the advance scout of a conquering king, the digit explored him with a thoroughness that caught him unaware and left him breathless. When Lykos' finger passed over his opening, the tip pressed lightly. His blood thundered in his ears so loud he almost didn't hear the groan that ripped from his throat.

"Like that, do you?" Wine scented breath played along his neck. "I'll show you other things you will like even more," the dark voice promised more of the world of men Alexios had just discovered.

Alexios allowed himself to be turned until he faced the wall. Cool air washed over his lower body as Lykos eased his tunic up to his waist. Something hot and hard slid between his nether cheeks, rubbing up and down his crack. When the head pushed against his hole, he leaned back. He wanted more, but had no idea how to go about getting what his body craved.

A deep chuckle vibrated against his back. "Easy. There will be plenty of time for that. But for now we'll take it slow."

The older man thrust up his cleft a few more times. Lykos shifted and his cock slipped under Alexios' ass to rub on the sensitive skin behind his sac. He pulled Alexios' hips back against his groin until the head of his cock mashed against Alexios' balls. With a groan, Alexios placed his crossed forearms on the wall and rested his head on them, pushing his hips back into Lykos' solid body.

Alexios smiled at the sudden hitch in the older man's breathing. Maybe the control didn't rest solely in Lykos' hands.

"You want me, Prince? I'll give you all you can handle."

"I think you want me too."

"I'll show you what I want you for!"

Hard hands drifted over his hips and thighs, stroking the skin and making his body tingle. He pushed back against the strong body holding him, shoving the head of Lykos' cock into his balls again. Twin moans entwined in the dark air.

Girls had never had half this effect on him when he fucked them. Why were men so much more arousing? Did he enjoy the take-charge attitude of the man holding him? Did he prefer hard bodies and firm hands over feminine softness? The answer to his questions rose ever-proud before him. Precum leaked down his length and pooled in the dark hairs at the shaft's base.

One hand grasped his hip and held him steady as Lykos drove his engorged cock between Alexios' thighs. The other hand wrapped around Alexios' damp cock, gliding up his shaft to squeeze the head with a gentleness unexpected in hands used to the sword. The firm grip slid back down to the base, the moist friction heaven on Alexios' skin.

His panting breaths matched the gasps of the older man as he thrust with growing fervor into the king's hand. Lykos let him set the pace. He stood while Alexios' hips snapped forward into his hand then drew back against him, rubbing the man's hard cock over the sensitive skin and into his balls.

"Come for me, erômenos."

With an inarticulate cry, Alexios pulsed out string after string of pearly cum. Dazed by his release, he wondered how much cum a man could spend in one day before he ran dry. When the last spasm left him weak, he slumped back against Lykos.

Muscled arms encircled his waist and kept him upright as the older man plunged between his legs with increasing urgency. His balls swung back and forth under the onslaught. Lykos surged forward and buried the entire length of his cock within the sheath of Alexios' sweat slicked skin. Hot cum bathed his balls as the man holding him twitched his hips forward in a series of shallow thrusts.

Lykos' weight on his back bore them both down against the wall, pinning Alexios beneath the king's larger, heavier frame. Content to be held in place while their harsh breathing slowed, Alexios marveled at the speed at which he had yielded to the man.

Lykos nuzzled the back of his neck and nibbled on his ear. "Is there any doubt? Theocritus enjoys bringing a youth to heel. Andronikos doesn't have the taste for taking an erômenos. Philon is too old and his daughters already wed."

After their breathing slowed, the king stirred. Lykos stepped away from him, allowing his tunic to drop back down into place. Alexios' cum covered cock and balls grew clammy. He reeked of sex. He hoped his father and the other kings would think he had indulged with one of the slave girls. His standing with his father, not to mention his father's plans to acquire an advantageous alliance, would suffer if any of the other kings discovered what he had just done. He resolved to garner an alliance with the man who had just shown him a world he wanted to become part of.

"I believe you are competing in three days. When I see you there, naked before everyone, I'll remember that you wore my seed."

Alexios endeavored to settle his tunic to hide the evidence of what they had just done. The cum on his cock and balls made the cloth cling suggestively to him. He searched in vain for something to wipe the thick fluid off. After noticing the amusement on Lykos' face, he settled for washing with some of the water from the large collecting tank. He might not be wearing the man's seed any more, but the smell clung to him and his clothing.

"Now, my young prince, return to your father's house. I will remain here a little longer."

A knight and a former princess, Kayla Jameth now spends her time writing m/m romance. A true Renaissance woman, she has done everything from cross stitch like a proper lady to welding with the best of them. An eclectic life has left her with a unique understanding of the world inhabited by men and an appreciation for the difficulties faced by men in m/m relationships. It is her devout wish that her experiences translate into a richer telling of such tales. A minor in classical history left her with a special love of ancient history, especially during the classical period.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

As many of you know, I work from home. Though it has its drawbacks, it’s one of the most wonderful things I’ve ever experienced. For the most part, I get to make my own hours, unless there are a multitude of things to do with equally important deadlines. There are many advantages to working at home but one of the biggest, and most important to me, is listening to music and blasting the crap out of a song when one hits the shuffle in my iTunes.

As I sit here writing this, the sky has clouded over and darkened. It’s raining. Sweet, beautiful, cleansing rain. And just as all that happened, iTunes did what it usually does. It shuffled into a song that seemed to have nothing to do with the last but everything to do with this one moment. The song? Let The Sunshine In from the Broadway musical “Hair.” It gave me goosebumps and brought tears to my eyes. For some reason, words I’ve heard hundreds of times really sank in and made me realize something I hadn’t noticed before. Just as the mid-to-late 60s were an incredibly tumultuous time, so too is the age we’re living in. And just as one generation fought to retain control on the majority of society back then, so it is now. History once again repeats itself.

No one likes change but I think the message in the song is very powerful. I don’t know why I never heard it before. It’s not hippie-dippie shit as some might say. And there’s nothing New Age about it. Spiritual perhaps but definitely not religious. I think the message of the 60s generation was about embracing a new world of thought and ideals. A world of peace, of putting down arms, of bringing our men and women home. A new world in which we lay down our differences, hold hands and walk boldly into a new future where we’re all the same. What a wonderful world that would be! Imagining it takes my breath away.

Monday, February 27, 2012

We all know what a bear is. I'm sure you've seen the late 60s television show Gentle Ben. Or maybe you've seen the nearly-silent movie called The Bear? What about Disney's animated features, Brother Bear or the beloved Baloo in the now-classic Jungle Book? They're all cute, cuddly and sometimes unpredictable; at times even ferocious.

But guess what? You know those sexy, furry men in your life? The ones sadly lacking in the m/m genre? Well, they're known as bears, too. Deanna Wadsworth has pulled together a group of writers, readers, and admirers of the hirsute male to open your mind and expose some pelt.

Here to kick off BearTalk, a week-long event devoted to the growling sensuality of bears cavorting in your bed, is the lovely and talented, Louisa Bacio. Be sure you give it up at the end of the post and show her some love in the form of a comment. You'll be entered to win a very special prize, courtesy of Louisa herself.

Okay, bella signorina. Take it away!

*******

From Smooth-Sailing to Fur-Tastic

Shaved, smooth and slick. When I first met my husband, and saw him sans-shirt, not a strand of hair adorned his sculpted chest.

Then the months passed by, and he got prickly, and then outright furry. He confessed that he used to shave, after being influenced by his muscle-building buddies in the military. (Things that make you go, hmmm.) I told him that I liked him au naturel.

The added friction was fine by me. There’s nothing sexier than that love trail that leads directly to a hot treasure package. And, imagine me blushing over here as I admit this turn-on, rubbing against a hairy chest feels pure divine.

As inspiration for this blog, I slaved through photos to illustrate some sexiness. For instance, this specimen definitely doesn’t carry his weapon half-cocked.

What’s your favorite body part? In addition to a steamy stomach and chest, I also like biceps, and rocking calves. But, would you pass up these oh-so-yummy thighs?

Hell to the no. Oh, can you almost feel licking that calf bulge?

Within my own writing, I haven’t directly addressed the bear obsession, and suddenly I’m feeling like a sensory element has been left out. Here’s a teaser on my m/m erotic paranormal, The Vampire & The Werewolf: A New Orleans Christmas.

Vampires and werewolves don’t mix … or do they?

Before there were three, there were two. When a vampire swoops in to save Trevor from a rogue gang’s blood sport, the werewolf must fight his own inhibitions. The magic of New Orleans and the holiday season bring together these two unlikely lovers.

Thanks so much for hosting me, Johnny. It’s been a pleasure dropping in for a chat. So tell me, what’s either the best thing or worst thing about a furry partner? I’m sponsoring a $10 gift certificate to Ravenous Romance for one commenter. Make sure to leave a valid email address so the winner can be contacted. And, please visit the other authors on our tour, check out the full schedule Bear Talk Blog Hop.

Monday, January 30, 2012

In a little over 12 hours, “The Rosas of Spanish Harlem,” my fourth book with Loose Id will be released. I’m nervous about it. Very nervous, in fact. More so than with any of the others. I’m nervous because I don’t know how it will be received.

I know what you might now be thinking.

Weren’t you nervous with the first three? You didn’t know how THEY would be received.

The answer to which is, yes, I was nervous for the first three. But this is a different sort of nervous. It's more like an anxiousness, really. I suspect it has to do with more than just how it will be received. So many thoughts keep running around in my head regarding this particular story. For instance:

Is anyone going to want to read a story about an 18-year-old crossdresser hell bent on losing his virginity? Will people even consider this a romance? What will readers get out of it, if anything? And horror of horrors, what will the reviews be like? If “Learning to Samba” didn’t do well -- which, to me was my best book to date -- what makes me think "Rosas" one will do well?

And then there’s the follow-up question to the last one.

What IF this one does better? What does that say about me? Where does that put my writing? Will anyone take me seriously as a writer moving forward? Am I pigeon-holing myself by writing dark, smutty stories? I mean, this is fun but frankly it’s not the only thing I want to write.

There’s a part of me that says, “Fuck it! Ride the wave if it comes!” But there’s another part of me that quietly screams, “There’s more to this writing thing than erotica, you know!”

As you can see, I’m…anxious. Shit. Do I sound like Woody Allen?

Perhaps it’s my own inner demons struggling to take charge of who, what, where, when, how and why I write.

Dontcha just love insecurity and self-censorship?

Truth be told, I think another reason I’m nervous about “The Rosas of Spanish Harlem” is because it’s darker than my previous work. Much darker. It taps into areas most consider to be taboo. In fact, before accepting the story for publication, Loose Id made it a point to remind me -- and rightfully so -- that the story did not fit the typical romance arc. But “TRoSH” does so much more than just stray from the typical romance arc. It outright deviates and runs in the opposite direction. And yet, in my heart, it IS a love story. A disturbing one, but a love story nonetheless.

Loose Id said they were willing to take the gamble if I was. Naturally, I said yes.

Before I go any further, let me give you a bit of history.

In the mid-80s, Dana -- a photographer friend -- introduced me to one of his models, a street hustler who believe it or not was a shy, extremely handsome young man I would’ve given my left testicle to have sex with. There was something petulant, dark and sexually mysterious about him. It was as if he carried some sort of shameful secret. I found him stimulating in more than just a physical way.

After he started doing his solo thing, the room got quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Then, as the model furiously increased speed and scrunched his face up even more, Dana softly asked what he was thinking. To which the young man replied, without skipping a beat, and almost as if he were in a hypnotic trance.

“My uncle.” A short while later, he added. “My cousin. My brother.” The model then proceeded to tell us snippets of things as he continued to masturbate, none of which made it to the actual video tape Dana eventually released.

When he left, the model collected his money and went on his not-so-merry way. Dana and I were both left to wonder if the young man had shared something that truly happened or if it was something he’d merely fantasized about. Dana was more inclined to believe it than I was and, regardless of whether or not it was true, it stuck with me. It reminded me of the fantasies I’ve had of my own cousins and two of my uncles. In fact, the young man’s story was so appalling, yet titillating and intriguing at the same time, I thought I’d write about it but I never did.

Until now.

Originally, when I first sat down to work on “The Rosas of Spanish Harlem,” it was intended as something to get me out of a long-term funk. It was never meant to see the light of day. At least, not like the previous three. I thought I might self-publish it…someday. This was only supposed to satisfy my need to write something…anything…and hopefully jump start my creative mind. However, after several conversations with other readers and writers where they asked why not, I too began to ask myself, “Why not?”

That I submitted the story was a surprise. That it was accepted for publication, was an even bigger surprise. That it was labeled as porn noir tickled me to the point of sheer delight, despite the fact that I could be “typecast” as that sort of writer. But maybe I already am.

“The Rosas of Spanish Harlem,” in it’s edited and finished format, is nothing like what that handsome young model shared that day in 1985. In fact, as I wrote the story, despite the chapter-by-chapter outline I’d sketched out for myself, everything morphed and became something other than what it was or what I remembered. But all the tiny -- and some not so tiny -- nuances of the taboo are there. Only the grit was sanded down because otherwise I would have felt like I’d never be clean, no matter how many times I showered.

Looking back, I realize the model might have censored himself even as he shared, or told things out of sequence. Not everything made sense and there was a lot of detail missing. Now, as I write this post, it makes me wonder if perhaps he felt he’d be judged; not just by the events in his life, but the fact that he was aroused by them. In turn, I wonder if I might not be feeling the same and perhaps that’s why I’m feeling nervous about the story’s release?

Whatever the reason, I’ll stand by the story as I stand by all of my work. The human psyche, after all, is messy and complex; like life. And since life is messy, so too is art. I think that’s the beauty of creative expression. It doesn’t have to be pretty or clean or safe. It just is. And in the end, I suppose that’s the biggest reason why I allowed myself to say yes to submitting “The Rosas of Spanish Harlem.”

Monday, October 31, 2011

Well, not yet. Not exactly. But they, or rather…it…will in approximately 9 hours.

I’m speaking, of course, about NaNoWriMo, a 30-day writing competition designed to jumpstart your novel and get those juices flowing. With a word count of 50,000 words looming ever closer, the trick is to sit your ass down in front of the computer and bang away; no self-censoring, no editing, no fretting about “getting it right.”

The man who started it, Chris Baty, was making the point -- at least this is what I got out of it -- that too many of us get bogged down in the minutia of a story. For example, what shade of brown someone's hair is rather than letting it just be brown. Or perhaps turning a phrase that rolls off the tongue effortlessly. We can do all those things later, after we've finished the story. If we do it as we go, unless you're a pro and know what you're doing, most of us who are still fairly new to writing and being published, go back the next day to look over what we've written, decide we don’t like this or that, then get caught up in editing instead of moving forward. We wind up losing momentum and, eventually, interest. It's like falling into quick sand.

I first heard about NaNoWriMo about 10 years ago, after picking up a copy of Baty’s “No Plot? No Problem!” I read the book, found it fascinating, then registered the following year since I’d purchased the book towards the end of November. Unfortunately, after registering, I never did anything beyond that. I blew it off. Looking back, I just don’t think I was ready. I didn’t have the discipline, or a structure that would allow me to get into the mind frame of, “Oh! I have an hour. Let’s fire up this puppy and see what I can spit out.”

With three books under my belt, published by Loose Id, and several others that were self-pubbed, there are still dozens upon dozens -- if not hundreds upon hundreds -- of ideas that continue to roll around inside my brain. And they keep on coming, folks!

Add to this the fact that I’m now 49 and, not to be morbid, time is limited. I want to see if I can figure out a way to write faster before my time comes; whenever that may be.

I don’t know if NaNoWriMo will be for me or not. I have work to do, a partner, pets, friends, sisters and family that call every so often. There are several social obligations thrown into the mix, like birthday celebrations and let's not forget Thanksgiving. Not to mention that it would be nice to take a mental break or I might just have a breakdown. All the same, I’ll let you know in 30 or so days if this was such a good idea.

Meanwhile, I’ve played with Scrivener, a software program that seems versatile and flexible. I think it will come in very handy! I’ve also got my synopsis and some hand-written notes; which really should be entered in Scrivener but I’ll give myself some leeway.

So, off I go. For those who are participating in NaNo, good luck. See you on the other side. For those who aren't, don't be surprised if you don't see a post from me in a while. Except for work, my friends, and my partner, I’m pulling a Timothy Leary. I’m going to turn on, tune in, and drop out until just after November 30.